Amidst the Green Leaves
by Wunderkind4006
Summary: **2nd Place Winner of the June 2016 Teitho Contest** (Inspired by Peter Jackson's mention, of Legolas' mother and her death in defence of her child). In the midst of a summer's storm a devastated King seeks shelter from those that hunt him and his newborn son.


**Amidst the Green Leaves**

 _ ***2nd Place of the June Teitho Contest***_

 **A Short Story**

 **by**

 **Wunderkind4006**

Never in his long life had the elf seen such wrathful weather. Never had he been so unsure that he would survive the wilds of nature - a storm so wicked that even the trees cried and wailed under the tumultuous winds and rains that lashed down upon them. Yet, it was not his own life he feared for, but the infant's.

Behind shielded arms, that cocooned around swathes of rough material, a tiny and almost inaudible bleat of a baby's cry could be heard. It's sound was weak, frail, and fading from hunger and cold. The littles one's journey had been long, dangerous, and frightening. It was miraculous that he had even survived the flight let alone the perils of this terrible storm.

The elf that held him, his father, evident in his protective embrace and anxiety saturating his every expression; hid them against the trunk of a wide and ancient oak. His silvery eyes danced about the treacherous environment as he rocked his tiny son in motions too swift to be comforting.

There was a barn not but a hundred yards from them. A small timber building neatly positioned under the shadow and protection of the hilly formations that stretched along these parts of Greenwood. Here the storm was still rough, but not near as deadly as it was on the open roads they had passed through.

He had lost his horse there. A tree came down and spooked the animal, throwing he and his child to the sodden ground before fleeing in fear.

Now they had wandered alone and on foot, the protection of the Woodland Realm still another day's journey - but not in this weather. He had to find them shelter, warmth, food for his son, and rest for the night. They had already suffered so much, and it was nothing but sheer force of will and determination that had drove the haggard elf this far in one piece.

A flash of disorientating light filled the sky, promptly making the elf lift his startled gaze to the heavens just as a devastating crack of thunder rattled through the air. The babe in his arms let out a terrified cry and the elf snapped his eyes back to the sodden bundle in his arms. He clutched the little body closer to his heaving chest, and nuzzled the fabric covering the child's head from the elements. He had no time left to dither - the barn would have to do!

Ripping out from the cover of the great tree the elf streaked across the water logged ground, his blonde hair bedraggled and flailing out behind him like miserable wet ribbons.

Another almighty crack left the elf skittering backwards as the great tree was felled before him. In elven instinct he vaulted the limbs with grace and slipped along the muddy earth until he crashed against the doors of the timber structure.

He felt along the ridges of the door - it was jammed shut!

With an exasperated sigh he hoisted the babe securely in his arms, before lunging back and taking his foot to the door. After several attempts of thrusting his boot against the wood the latch eventually came loose and the doors threw open with terrific force.

The elf darted inside, his eyes adjusting to the dull light of the barn, he staggered a little before spying a cluster of hay bales.

Gently he eased the wriggling bundle into the straw before turning back to secure the doors.

He pulled rope from the rafters, and in his determination and fierce drive to survive for his son's sake he bound the door shut.

Stepping back from his work, breathless, trembling, and soaked to the bone, he eventually allowed himself a moment to gasp out a wretched sob of relief. The door was secure, the storm held at bay by the timber frame of the barn. Although it was strong it was still greatly tested by the vengeful hand of nature outside, and the elf knew that at any moment the foundations could crack and give out, but while his infant son remained with him he would fight to keep it intact, safe, and secure...he would not lose both his parents...not this night.

Wearily the elf turned back towards the hay and the terrified whimpering of his son.

Sinking into the straw he gently unwound the rough and improvised swaddling. It was layers of his own clothes; his fur cloak, his jerkin, he had even removed his own tunic to keep his baby dry, leaving him only in his saturated vest and flimsy leather armour. He had discarded the metal outer-parts long ago, it weighed him down and slowed the horse, besides his son needed the heat from his body to warm him and not cold metal.

There was nothing about this poor soul, with exhausted eyes, and shivering, pale, skin, that hinted at his identity. He looked like a mere peasant, a vagabond, or escaped convict, but for once this would work in his favour. If they did not know who he was then his son was safe, those who still searched for him would not look twice at a ragged pauper carrying his child in tattered cloth. Likewise, the Silvan people would not think to question a poor ellon seeking shelter with a hungry elfling. They would think him one of their own, hopefully lend him a horse to reach home quickly...they would not know they aided their King.

The knowledge that their Queen was now dead would not reach their ears - not yet - not until he had returned to his throne and proved to all of Arda he was not yet broken.

The assassination attempt may have succeeded in that the Queen was gone, but the attempt to destroy the House of Oropher and topple the elven hold of Greenwood had failed entirely. His son lived...and he lived.

A wave of grief threatened to pummel down on the King's shattering heart. A pain so unbearable and so hauntingly close that it threatened to tear his foundations apart, making him wish to lie down on the cold floor and surrender to death, but the incessant bleats for life emanating from his child forced him to remain steadfast against the storm in his heart.

His wife's death would not be in vain - she gave up her life so that they would both endure.

He had held her in his arms as she wasted away, her body broken beyond recognition and repair. Yet, she found her voice - a fragile and brittle sound that rasped around words like smoke on falling ashes.

'Run,' she had commanded, a single tear tracking down her burnt and blood caked face. 'Do not look back to this place my love, do not remember me like this. Leave this body behind to the dust, my spirit will be free soon and it will run with you...but not this body.'

He had tried with all his might to take her with him, but he could not carry both his son and his dying wife, and she in her wisdom knew this.

'I promise you my spirit will run with you both,' she vowed, a sweet but painful smile cracking her soot dusted features. ''But my body cannot, you must leave it here.'

He had bitterly refused, as he clutched the remains of his family to himself and wept. His warriors lay dead about him, his home was faraway, and in the desolate North by the shadows of Angmar he would have to leave his beloved's body without grave or proper burial. It was his only option, and the horror of such a realisation obliterated his heart so it was left as a hallow cavity in his aching chest.

'I love you,' he had brokenly murmured, her answering yet fading smile was still so infectious. It was enough to waver his resolve as he propped her up against him one last time.

'Let me see him,' she begged in a featherlight voice, 'Let me look at him just once more...it eases the pain.'

Unable to resist his wife's requests was one of his flaws, but this time he would have given anything to keep her here with him.

He eased the tiny body of their baby into her lifeless arms, holding him as close to her bosom as she could tolerate. Gently, the King pulled away the tattered remains of his blanket allowing his wife to gaze at their son.

The warmth that filled her dying eyes in that instant nearly stole his strength, it nearly gave him hope that she could be revived, but he knew her body was nothing more than a decimated corpse. Her light was fading with her every exhale, her life departing into the West, to Mandos...a place he could never follow.

She cooed unconsciously, a weak but musical note, her eyelashes fluttering back tears. The King lifted her hand to rest on her boy's rosy cheek, he started and wriggled at the familiar touch. His beautiful eyes, as blue and tranquil as a summer's sky, gazed lovingly at the soul he recognised as his mother. He gave a happy gurgle for her, as she let out a painful and wheezing laugh in response.

'I would endure all of this again, for you, my son,' she croaked tiredly, her eyelids drooping. 'It was all worth it to hear his laughter...his life is more than mine...more than ours...you tell him that..." Her voice broke in panic at end, her eyes flying open to pierce her husband's - like she saw another life. Her voice was leaving her as she moaned in her pain and frustration as she sought to make her final point; 'Promise me you will tell him...I did this...for him.'

'I will,' The King vowed, his own voice as weak and listless as the strength left in his wife's limbs.

She grew heavier in his arms, her breathing shallow, and he tried vainly to hold her with them, to anchor her to this world like it was in his power to command such a thing. He dropped his head into her neck in defeat, savouring the last of her fading pulse, memorising it.

'Run...you must run,' she pleaded weakly, her deep navy eyes - that used to be filled with stars that glittered - were almost shut.

And so he ran.

He ran because no matter which way he tried to reason the situation, running was the only answer. Running from danger, running from certain death, captivity, pain, and anguish. He had never ran from a fight in his long life, he had never been brought to his knees in fear of the unknown, but with the threat of death on his son so grave running was his only hope. She knew that...she always knew that it would come to this.

His flight was swift but not evasive. He was a King, the blood price on his head was substantial, it could hold an entire elven race to ransom. Droves of hellish creatures poured out after his escape, each surely promised a handsome reward for his return...or worse...the life of his only child and heir.

Their anonymity was paramount to their survival, to the survival of their home and court. If the elder council could be tricked or prematurely led into believing that the King was assassinated along with all that remained of his family, then chaos would ensue. The people would be put at great risk, their lands and homesteads easy targets without their King's long stretch to defend them. Some would surely run South, to Lorien, and would Celeborn seek to claim his realm and bring it under the rule of his Noldo mate if he believed the Silvan at risk?

A war could be waged in a moment if even the slightest sniff that the ElvenKing was dead, or worse still, weakened and fading from cruel losses. If it reached the ears of both the Noldor and the servants of evil, it could bring about the end of his reign. He could not allow this to happen, he had to keep his hold on his throne and his lands lest his wife's death be in vain, lest his father's legacy be forgotten.

Hidden here in this rickety barn, probably belonging to lowly farmers of his own realm, the identity of he and his only heir was safe for the time being. All he had to do was ensure the baby survived the night, and in the morning he would take a horse from this very barn and race for home. He would go straight to his throne, hold court, and prove his capacity to rule and strength to endure to his people before any soul could claim otherwise!

Yet kneeling there, in the straw, with hands hovering over the crying child - the King was overcome with dread.

The baby cried for nourishment, warmth, even the assurance of a gentle touch in the midst of this terrifying storm. His father was new to this, no experience to speak of, nobody to guide him, nothing but the creation of a new and shaky bond that drove him to try...and try was all he could do.

The elf searched for materials to build a crude fire. There was an old raked pit in the centre of the barn to make such a fire, but he was hard pressed to find dry enough of materials that were not dampened by the leaky roof.

With each roll of thunder and flash of blinding lightening, the babe grew more despairing, but at last the little tinder sparked with life and a fire sprung from the bleakness. A pathetic glow in the midst of such a destructive darkness, but 'twas a welcome warmth all the same.

The elf carefully picked up the sobbing infant and brought him near the heat. The delight of a warm light and dancing flames settled him momentarily. His bright as summer sky eyes looked on dazedly at the strange yet captivating warmth. The flickering flames bringing about a memory of a comforting embrace, but the pang of hunger flared again and the tiny baby weakly wriggled and burrowed his head into coarse cloth seeking reprieve from his discomfort.

"Hush little one!" The elf heard the gruffness in his voice as he commanded the baby in his arms. "Quiet now, or you shall give us away."

His son gave a determined wail as he stretched out in his frustration, throwing his head back and verbalising his unhappiness with his father's incompetence. He was hungry! Did his father not understand, the growling in his little belly was most disconcerting and it only made him yearn more for the comfort of his mother's breast...where was his mother?

"I know, I know little leaf," his father pleaded fearfully, his own belly empty and uncomfortable. "Ada is hungry too, but we have only some water to spare." He carefully unlaced the water skin from his hip and attempted to awkwardly dribble the contents into his son's mouth. Of course this was met with much spluttering and yet more tearful pleas.

"Please...ion nin...please stop crying. I have nothing to give you, only my promises that I will save you from this, just hold on for me child...just a little while longer...please..."

The King's voice broke into a painful sob as his own grief and despair welled inside of him.

The realisation that he had nothing to give his son in this moment, just a crude blanket and a weak fire to ward off the biting chill. All his hope and resolve was pinned on his baby enduring, surviving the trauma of their ordeal so that he had something to live for - making her death worth something.

It was then that his tears flowed freely as he rocked his son.

He hummed a Silvan lullaby as he scanned the room, seeking a goat or cow that could express milk, surely it was better than bitter water? It would be something warm and substantial at least, but could his son tolerate it? And even if he could, how in all Arda was he going to milk a goat? He had never milked a thing in his long life, such menial skills were beneath his station, and now more than ever he wished he had learned such labour. It was a basic knowledge that could spare his baby's life.

There was a goat - presumably a female goat - roaming around a small pen at the far end of the barn.

Determinedly, the elf returned his boy to the warm straw, and marched brazenly up to the hapless looking creature. Surely it couldn't be that hard to milk a goat?

Shoving the sleeves of his vest above his elbows, he lifted the cleanest looking pail by the gate and unhinged the gate. Eyeing his opponent with a challenging and ruthless glower he reached out his arms to corner her.

The goat gave a loud cry and lunged for her challenger; bucking and wriggling with heroic force. He nearly secured her...nearly.

At the last moment she kicked him square in the chest, making him topple and crash rather disgracefully in the corner of the pen. Instead of milk the hassled King only managed to get a handful of dung. Much to his disgust the animal leapt the pen fence and darted off to cower in another dark corner of the barn.

Glowering at the fine mess he had managed to get himself into, he shoved himself to his feet and stalked after the animal - he was not giving up!

He preyed on the goat with all the stealth and grace gifted to that of elf kind - sadly the goat was well aware she was in the hands of an inexperienced novice. With much clattering and banging, and a few well timed kicks from the brave tawny nanny goat, the poor ellon found himself back on all fours and sprouting a slew of deadly curses at the unperturbed little beast.

Angrily he tossed the tin pail at the goat, just as another deafening bang of thunder rolled overhead. The chaos and noise had done nothing but upset the baby further, and now he wailed pitifully into the night. His little arms flailed above him with his fists clenched tight. His father struggled to his feet, his heart heavy with guilt and shame, for he truly was failing the infant.

He trudged in exhaustion towards the measly fire, his muscles sore and fatigued from a mixture of exertion and much sorrow. His eyes grew dim with his tiredness, and his feet less steady, but he would keep pushing on. Dropping down beside the fire he pulled his baby son back into his arms. Cradling him close and murmuring his apologies to the confused and terrified looking babe, the King resolved to stay within his son's sight until his fear passed.

As time ticked slowly by and the storm seemed only to worsen, the baby's cries began to grow weaker. His beautiful eyes dulled in exhaustion, and his weary limbs ceased their struggle - he was tired of fighting. He felt the energy ebb from his father, the fragility of their fledgling bond was enough to alert the little one that he would gain no sustenance from his poor Ada tonight.

In those dark, cold, and lonely hours before dawn, the pair held fast to each other, but the baby was failing and his tormented father knew time was no friend of his tonight. He wept then, in fear, begging the powers to bring him a miracle, and in his delirious haze he called to the ghost of his wife to help their child...she vowed to run with them...she never made promises lightly.

It was the flicker of torch flame that alerted the King first, the movement of dim light from beyond the barn door. A voice on the air called in warning, and he struggled to pull himself awake, to shake off his wearied stupor and prepare to defend himself and his son from the invader.

"Who goes there?" A strong yet feminine voice called into the barn, as she wrestled with doors. The rope and spare wood not withstanding the force of the elleth's blade as she forced her way inside; "I warn you, I am no weak maid," her voice was strong willed and threatening, "I am armed!"

The elf scrambled to hide his son in the hay as he pulled the long knife from his belt. His heart hammering in his panic as he took his defensive position before the barn door. He did not relish the idea of a fight and he certainly did not feel strong enough for one either, but he was not leaving this barn, it was the only place safe enough for his child.

As the door groaned open, and the almost extinguished end of a torch jutted forward in warning, the King found his courage leave him. Instead he raised his arm in pleadingly - his heart could not bear more bloodshed. All he wanted in the moment was peace for his son, and if he had to beg for it then he would.

"Drop your weapon!" The elleth hissed sternly as she procured her own dagger. "You are a trespasser and a thief, do you know the penalty for such a crime in the King's realm?"

"I know well the punishment for such crimes," the elf heard his voice rattle with insinuation of a threat, no one ever threatened him - but then he never hid his identity. "I may have trespassed, but I am no thief! I sought shelter...please...lower your torch and blade, I can-."

"If it is shelter you desired there are plenty of welcoming homes," the elleth spat, the dying flames lighting her crystalline eyes so that glowed with determination - she was not fearful. "If you are naught but a common thief then why do you cower in my barn like someone guilty of such crimes?"

"If I were a thief do you think I would be so inclined to appeal to your mercy?" The elf attempted to stall the elleth before him. He did not need to be branded a thief either! He was treading a thin line between maintaining his cover and risking his life now, and he never felt more frustrated and helpless before.

"I do know what strangers hiding in barns at night are capable of!" The elleth bit back as she took a stride closer to him...towards his swaddled son...he instinctively stepped with her. "What are you hiding?" She accused and attempted to step around him again but he blocked her, "stolen goods, my resources - thief!"

"No!" He found himself shout, but the warning came out more like a weak mercy plea as the light of the Flames trickled over his child's sleeping form.

"A baby!" The elleth gasped, the tenor in her voice giving away a maternal affection, but that same maternal instinct flared in accusation towards the ragged elf in her presence. She pointed a warning finger to the ellon, her gaze splintering; "who is the child? Where is his mother?"

"His mother is dead," the disguised King brokenly admitted, his head hanging shamefully. "I am all he has in the world...his father...and I am failing him even now."

"How long has he gone without his mother's milk?" The elleth questioned urgently as she proceeded to move towards the listless infant.

"A few days, all I had was water," the elf positioned himself defensively between the peasant elf of his Kingdom and his only heir, unable to help the challenging glower between them. "Please...allow me this night and I will leave in the morning. I hail from the King's Halls I can pay you handsomely for shielding us. Please, he has family there, and I cannot travel with him in this storm he is too weak."

"You are Elven nobility?" The elleth squeaked, her eyebrows arching high on her forehead. "Th-there was rumours that the King and Queen took to their summer retreat in the far Northern reaches - a quiet time to prepare for the birth." The elleth's eyes skittered nervously over the baby and the ellon before her, her mind drawing a conclusion that she dare not not believe or utter, instead she answered; "They say their closest court and entourage went with them in great celebration. Are you telling me something has befallen our King? Are we in danger?"

"The King is well, I assure that, there is nothing to fear...but please I am not permitted to speak anymore," he warned urgently, his eyes still scanning protectively over his son, praying this elleth would presume him as one of the nobles of his court. It was not a stretch to assume he was, many of the nobles and their families travelled North with them in the summer to holiday.

A moment contemplative silence ensued before the elleth seemed to buckle, her resolve wavering at the weak snuffles of the helpless babe.

"Then it is by good fortune and likely the intervention of the Valar that has brought you here," she spoke quickly as began to swiftly unbutton her suede coat. "I have a little one not but a few months older than yours - I can feed him."

"Is that safe?" The elf interjected, panic and no small amount of horror rising in his eyes.

"Quite safe I assure you," the elleth chuckled tenderly as she reached for the baby, lifting him expertly into her arms.

"I was led to believe many of the noble elleth had wet nurses...perhaps you are not so noble as I first thought?"

"Perhaps," the King spoke through gritted teeth as he moved to sit rigidly on a hay bale.

His heart constricted in his chest at the sight of another caring for his child - their son. The image was wrong. In the place of the flaxen curls and twinkling navy eyes of his wife, sat a tawny haired, dark eyed elleth; who's hands were rough with the toil of the land, and with the feel of a sword hilt. Although, food was food in any form and his son made no objections to his mother's replacement. The tenderness of such a sharing moment made the King turn away and drop his gaze - his grief was still suffocatingly close - and he could not watch without feeling unfair resentment.

"There we go little lad," the elleth crooned as the babe suckled contentedly, every so often his hungry sighs sounding in the weighted silence of the barn. The elleth grinned triumphantly as she looked to his ill-prepared father, "listen to that, he is a strong little fellow indeed. What's his name?"

"We had not decided," the elf spoke softly, his eyes still downcast, "if truth be told I had not decided...his Naneth already had her heart set on his name," he paused and drew in an anguished breath at the memory of such unnecessary arguments. He had wanted a regal name, more suiting of a Sindar prince, she had wanted a more natural name - a name of life and vibrancy.

Fidgeting with a piece of straw in his hands, the King - disguised as a lowly elf - peeked up at the elleth and gave a weary smile. A smile that spoke of happy defeat; he would relent and let her win one last time.

"Legolas," he answered, and the other elf tilted her head questioningly. "His name is Legolas," he repeated again, and nodded briefly as if in silent confirmation to himself.

"What a fitting name," the elleth answered in cooing sound to the baby, "born amidst the vibrant green leaves of summer...so full of life and vitality...you have been named well little fighter."

His father swallowed a choking lump in his throat and hid his face in his palms to disguise the threatening tears that glistened on his red rimmed eyes. He was utterly exhausted, and to talk anymore of names, of the future, of life, it only wedged the cruel knife of grief into the hallow cavity from where his heart had been wrenched. He exhaled a steady sigh, an aching and empty sounding thing, before he looked up to his host and found her gazing upon him with a measure of resigned compassion - she knew better than to show him pity, he was not the type to receive it well.

"Rest for awhile my lord," the elleth ordered, gesturing to the hay, "we won't be going anywhere in that storm, and I certainly do not relish the return walk to my homestead...I can linger awhile and nurse the babe."

"You have a family of your own to attend, I cannot ask you to stay," the King groaned, but his body was already crawling towards the warmth of the dry straw. He felt heavy, weighted down as if many stones had been sewn into his garments, even his speech was long and drawn out like it hurt to talk.

"My eldest is practically full grown, she can manage the home without me," was the elleth's nonchalant reply. "My mate has left to help a neighbouring farm, their barn was flooded, and I suppose I worried for my own. I came up here expecting a fire had started because of the lightening, and instead I find you both! Well, there should never be doubt that Elbereth guided my footsteps tonight."

"I would not doubt that many prayers have been answered this night," the King mumbled as he rested his head back against the bale of hay. Even as a restless weariness tugged at his consciousness,he still fought it, unwilling to take his eyes from his child, the elleth nothing this gave a slight chuckle.

"Rest!" she commanded, "you will not be fit to ride if you don't!"

"I will when I can hold him," he answered primly, "I will not be able to rest unless I know he is safely within my reach...he is all I have."

The elleth only nodded in understanding and left the strange elf to his thoughts. She knew that protective instinct all too well and she supposed she would do the same in his position, she doubted she could trust any stranger with her own blood, even a well intentioned stranger. So, the lowly Silvan elf finished nursing the little prince, entirely unaware of his lineage and oblivious to the fact that she carried the future of her Kingdom in her arms. She relinquished the satisfied infant back to his thankful father, unaware that she had knelt before her King and given him back his reason to fight...his reason to endure against the storm within his own heart.

The elleth did not make a fuss, nor did she pry or question her unexpected guest, it was not in her nature to do so anyway. Instead she waited for the storm to pass, and pass it did within a few hours. In that time she observed how the elf lord fell in an out of fitful dreams, each one causing a stray tear to drip from his heavy lidded eyes - eyes that were rimmed with lilac and set against ghostly skin. She was unsure what he had run from, it surely was no small thing, but what could the empty Hall of the King offer him...why did he fight so furiously to return to them? Her mind did wonder, but she kept her musings to herself - it was of course no business of hers.

She readied her only horse, and roused the elf from his sleep when the first shafts of light herald in the dreary dawn. Carefully she swaddled the baby while his father dressed, and offered him a flask of goats milk for the child, should he grow hungry on their journey. She also spared his father some cheese and a little wine from her stores, which he accepted with much heartfelt gratitude.

"I will have the horse returned to you," the King promised as he mounted the steady beast, she was a gentle mare, a sound creature for sure, she would see them home safely.

"I would appreciate that," the elleth chuckled as she passed the baby into his fathers strong arms, "She's a fine animal, I would not want to lose her to the royal stables." The king froze and eyed the elleth wearily, she only smiled innocently and petted the horse's hind. "Before my mate left to help our neighbouring farm, he told me a few noble elves of the King's court had passed through the village, they were dressed in armour, and looked as if they were abroad on serious business."

"Whatever rumours you have heard, you know not to heed them, I promise you that your lands are safe...your King is safe, there is no need to panic," the elf found himself rushing to silence the elleth in her insightful news.

"I pray he is," the elleth murmured as she bowed her head and stepped away from the horse, "I pray that he returns swiftly to his throne, and that whatever darkness that threatens us will be suppressed when he does."

The King only nodded, the weight of his title weighing heavily on him now more than it ever did. He had to reach home soon, before the rumours circulated, before the people began to panic and hysteria broke free.

As he turned the horse away from he quaint little barn, he heard the elleth call one last time;

"My lord. tell me, do you know if the King welcomed his heir?"

He paused, smiling wryly, he gazed upon his sleeping son all snuggled in warm blankets, safe and content against his chest.

Glancing over his shoulder he nodded, his smile stretching into a wider grin that spoke of his pride.

"Yes," he called in return, "a prince...born amidst the green leaves of summer."


End file.
